by Marie Landry
Friends. Knowing what it’s like to be kissed by him, I think it’s a little late for that. And yet I also know myself well enough to discern it won’t take long to begin developing feelings for Hugh. To want more from him than just casual dating and maybe even hooking up.
Bridget says I’m a romantic with dreams of a fairytale-like romance. Being swept off my feet. That might be true, but it’s not like I have a line of suitors waiting to do said sweeping or anything else for that matter. Maybe I don’t need grand gestures and romance, or maybe that’s meant to come later and I should learn to live in the moment. The moment is looking pretty damn good with a gorgeous Scotsman looking at me imploringly and waiting for a response.
“What if we agreed to take things one day at a time?” I say. “Less than a couple, but more than friends.”
He lets out a huff of air that might be a laugh. “I was hoping you wouldn’t call my bluff and say we should just be friends. I don’t think I could bear not being able to kiss you.” And kiss me he does, until my head is spinning once again.
This kiss lasts only a fraction of the length of our last one. It’s probably a good thing, because I might have ended up wrestling him to the ground and having my way with him. The man knows how to kiss; I’ve never been so turned on just from kissing, and it makes me wonder what other magical things Hugh can do with his tongue.
We gather the remnants of our picnic and pack everything back into Hugh’s bag. A secret smile passes between us as we head out, skipping the trail we climbed up in favor of the less steep path. Hugh takes my hand, and after a few minutes of walking in silence, says casually, “If day by day is too difficult, you could quit your job and come to Scotland with me.”
I burst out laughing, the sound startling woodland creatures who haven’t tucked themselves away for hibernation yet. Hugh starts chuckling along with me, which, paired with the light way he spoke assures me he was kidding. Because of course he was kidding. The notion is ludicrous. We barely know each other. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. “Always good to have options, right?”
He squeezes my hand, but doesn’t say anything else until the path narrows and he suggests I go ahead so I can set the pace like before. My hand slips from his and I give him an absent smile as I take the lead. I attempt to keep my thoughts blank except for focusing on the trail. My mind begins to wander, though, first to what Hugh said a minute ago and then to our pre-makeout conversation about my job.
The thing is, I’ll likely end up staying at Quest. It pays well, has good benefits, and Bridget is there. It’s different now that she’s my boss, but since she climbed the corporate ladder, there are times when the only face-to-face I get with her is at work. Lots of people don’t love their jobs, yet they continue to go every day because they need to make a living. I’ll just have to find some fulfilling hobbies to make up for not being passionate about my work anymore.
Maybe I will take up hiking. This has been invigorating. I have a feeling part of it has to do with the company, but I could do this on my own. At the very least I could start walking until the weather turns bad. Who knows, I might become one of those people who actually enjoys physical activity. If that was the case, I could look into getting proper boots or maybe even snowshoes so I could keep walking through the winter.
I’m so busy contemplating my need to find things that will give me a renewed lust for life, I don’t see the sudden dip in the trail. I step right into it, twisting my ankle. My balance wavers and I tip over, hitting the ground hard. The momentum of the fall carries me forward and I roll partway down the hill, landing splayed out face-first in the dirt.
“Oh god,” I moan. This would be a great time for the earth to open up and swallow me whole. “Ohhh shit,” I moan louder as the pain begins to register, first in my ankle, followed by my knees.
Hugh skids to a stop beside me, dropping his backpack in the dirt near my head. He crouches at my side, his warm hand landing lightly on my back. “Are you all right, love? Can you move?”
I shift my body tentatively, limb by limb. Nothing seems to be broken, although my right ankle is starting to throb. “Please tell me we’re actually still at the top of the hill and I fell asleep and I’m having a nightmare,” I mutter into the dirt that’s way too close to my face.
Hugh makes a sound I think is a stifled laugh. I don’t look at him to verify. “I’m going to help you sit up, okay? Tell me if anything hurts and I’ll stop.” He rolls me gently to my side and eases me into a sitting position, murmuring, “Easy does it,” as we go. Once I’m sitting up, he shifts around in front of me and dusts some leaves and dirt off my shirt before meeting my eyes. “Okay?”
“My ankle,” I say in a wobbly voice. It doesn’t hurt bad enough to be broken. At least I hope. I ache all over, but I’m more embarrassed than anything. Hugh asks which ankle, and I point to the right one. He plunks down in the dirt beside me, lifting my foot onto his lap with one hand while pulling his backpack closer with the other.
With slow, steady movements, he works my shoe off and gently prods my ankle. I suck in a breath and he winces in sympathy, meeting my eyes briefly before returning his gaze to my foot. His rough hands inch over my skin, pressing here and there.
“Not broken,” he says. “Likely sprained. I’ll wrap it and we’ll head to the hospital.”
“No, no, not the hospital,” I plead. I hate hospitals. At the mere mention of it, my body floods with panic and my mind fills with memories of the aftermath of my parents’ car accident, and then years later sitting with Bridget and her mom when Mr. Higgins was brought in.
Hugh’s eyebrows lower further as he studies my face. Finally, he reaches into his bag and roots around, eventually pulling out a tensor bandage.
“That thing really is like a TARDIS,” I say, hoping to distract him from further thoughts of the hospital. “What else do you have in your bag of tricks?”
He hands it over and I peer inside. What looks like a homemade first aid kit is lying on top. I inspect the contents while Hugh wraps my ankle, his big hands surprisingly quick and gentle. After securing the bandage, he lifts my pant leg and runs his hands up my leg and over my knee. I say a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might be listening for the fact I shaved my legs this morning. He does the same to the other leg, and for a fraction of a second while his hands glide up my leg, I forget about the pain in my ankle.
“You’ll likely have some bruises pop up in interesting places over the next few days,” he says. “I’d still feel better if we went to the hospital, but if you insist, we’ll skip it. It’s swelling a bit now, which is normal. Just keep an eye on it, make sure you don’t lose motion in it. Maybe make an appointment with your family practitioner if you have one.”
“I do. He’s great,” I say quickly, glad he’s not pressing the hospital issue. “I’ll call Monday and I’m sure his receptionist will squeeze me in.”
“Okay then.” He opens a small packet of painkillers from inside his kit and hands me a bottle of water. Once I’ve swallowed the pills, he gets to his feet. In one swift motion, he hooks his hands under my armpits and hauls me to my feet. “Now. Shall I give you a piggyback the rest of the way?”
A slightly hysterical-sounding laugh escapes me. “I’m sure I can walk.”
“I’m sure you can too, but I think the sooner you get off that ankle the better.” He peels my backpack off me and stuffs it into his own bag before securing the whole thing to my back. He turns and kneels in the dirt with his back to me. “Hop on.”
“Hugh. This is nuts.” I suddenly wish I were anywhere else right now. With his Boy Scout tendencies, I wonder if there’s anything in his bag we could use to fashion a toboggan of sorts that I could sit on and he could pull me. Anything would be better than climbing onto his back, wrapping my legs around his waist, and having him carry me all the way down the hill to his car.
He sighs. It’s quiet, but the forest is too, so I hear it easily. I’m sure he doesn’t want to haul
my ass down this hill any more than I want him to. “I really don’t think you should be walking. This is the safest way for me to carry you because it leaves my arms free for balance.”
“Balance is good. Balance means we don’t both end up in a heap at the bottom of the hill.”
“One spill is enough for today,” he agrees. “Now come on. Up you get.”
I consider making a joke about mounting him, but stop myself before the words leave my mouth. Once I’m situated on his back, he stands with ease. He shifts me around a bit and I clutch his shoulders in a death grip until we’re settled and he starts walking. After a few minutes, I say, “Hugh?”
“Hmm?”
I hesitate, not sure I really want to know the answer to my question. “Did you have to try not to laugh when you saw me go ass over teakettle down the hill?”
He inhales deeply, then clears his throat. “No. Course not. Wasn’t the least bit funny. All I could think of was making sure you were okay.” The way he clears his throat again makes me think he’s trying not to laugh. I suppose I can’t blame him.
It doesn’t take nearly as long to reach the bottom of the hill as it took to climb it. Thankfully, Hugh was right and this trail wasn’t as steep as the one we took to the top. He gets me situated in the backseat of his vehicle with my foot propped on a folded blanket. On the way home, he asks one more time if I want to go to the hospital, and I assure him I’m fine. The pills he gave me kicked in a while ago, reducing the pain to a dull ache.
Back at my apartment building, Hugh pulls his car into a visitor parking spot. With my arm looped around his back and him supporting my weight on my right side, I manage to hobble all the way inside the building. By the time we get off the elevator on my floor and make it down the hall, I’m gasping almost as hard as I was when we reached the top of the hill this afternoon.
Outside my door, I collapse against Hugh, resting my forehead on his chest. His quiet laughter ruffles my hair as his arms encircle me in a loose embrace.
“That’s my exercise for the rest of the year.” I shift so my cheek is pressed against his chest. His heart thumps out a steady, reassuring beat. I’d stay like this for the rest of the day if my ankle wasn’t starting to throb from all the exertion.
His arms tighten around me. “I’m sorry our day ended so badly.”
“Not so badly,” I murmur. I’m suddenly exhausted; my limbs are heavy and my brain is filling with fog. I wonder if it’s the adrenaline wearing off or if the pills Hugh gave me were stronger than I’m used to. Either way, I feel like I could sleep for a week. “I had fun except for that whole…” I move my hand in a rolling motion, and Hugh laughs again.
“I had fun too.” His words are followed by warm lips on my forehead. I tilt my head up and his lips come down on mine. The kiss is soft and sweet. If I had more energy, I’d wrap my arms around his neck and pick up where we left off earlier.
I’m contemplating asking him inside when the door opens.
“Oh. Oh.” Celia’s eyes are wide as they move from Hugh to me and back again. “Thought I heard something. Didn’t realize it was you two. Don’t mind me, I’m not here.” She ducks back inside, practically slamming the door behind her in her haste.
The moment I meet Hugh’s eyes, we both dissolve into laughter. We return to our original position of my cheek on his chest and his arms around me. The rumble of his laughter leaves me with what I’m sure is a goofy smile on my face even after my own giggles have subsided.
“You should get that ankle elevated with some ice,” he says. “Shall I come inside and help you?”
I’m momentarily distracted by my attempts not to swoon at the way he says ‘shall I’ in that deep, rumbly voice. “I think I can manage.” As much as I enjoy his company, he doesn’t deserve to be subjected to Celia’s snark. “Thanks, though.”
“If you’re sure. I’ll call you later to check in, okay?” He waits for my nod, then kisses me quickly. He swoops back in to kiss me a second time as he reaches past me to open the door.
I thank him again for everything and limp inside. Celia is in the kitchen getting a glass of water. She jumps when the door closes, whipping around to face me.
“I’m sure I can find somewhere else to spend the night if he wants to come in,” she says, moving around the counter and heading for the hall that leads to our bedrooms.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t expect you to leave for the night. Plus I hurt myself on the hike anyway.”
“Oh.” Her gaze moves to my wrapped ankle and the shoe I’m carrying. Her expression doesn’t change. “Okay. Well…” She motions over her shoulder and starts down the hall again.
I want so badly to make a sarcastic remark. I’m fine, thanks for asking. It’s not broken. I’m not sure which is more bruised, my knees or my pride after taking a dive down the hill. Bridget would be falling all over me right now, hugging me, getting me ice, asking what she could do to help.
Longing for my best friend hits me so hard it brings tears to my eyes. I suddenly feel like a lost little girl, desperate for a bit of comfort and maybe even some coddling. I swallow all my possible responses and instead say, “We need to talk about yesterday.”
Celia waves a dismissive hand over her shoulder. “Not right now, Ivy.”
My whole body deflates when I hear her bedroom door close. “You’re lucky I can’t chase after you,” I mutter.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I hear you had a scuffle with a hill yesterday and the hill won.”
“It won, all right.” Word spreads fast. I’ve been lying in bed for the past half hour, trying to psyche myself up to have a look at my ankle before attempting to hobble to the bathroom. I wouldn’t even have answered my phone if I hadn’t seen Bridget’s mom’s number on the display.
“I’m bruised and battered, but luckily still in one piece,” I add. The bruises started to form on my knees a few hours after getting home yesterday. I’d iced my ankle and lounged in bed, talking to both Hugh and Bridget on the phone before falling asleep early and somehow managing to sleep for nearly twelve hours.
“Poor girl.” Marla makes a tutting sound. “What you need is some good old-fashioned mothering. Bridget is with David for the weekend, so I’m going to come get you and you’ll spend today with me. You can sleep here and decide if you feel like going to work in the morning. We’ll watch movies and eat junk, and you can tell me about this handsome new guy Bridget keeps mentioning.”
I clench my eyes shut as tears threaten. My throat is so thick I have to swallow twice, and in that time Marla says, “You still there, honey?”
I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m here. Just wondering how you knew that’s exactly what I needed.”
She laughs softly. “Let’s call it mother’s intuition.”
An hour later, Marla arrives to whisk me away. When I got off the phone, I’d invited Celia to come along, even though I knew her answer would be something in the variety of an eye roll or a snarky comment. I got both. I let her negativity slide, grateful to know I was about to have twenty-four glorious Celia-free hours.
Marla makes lunch when we arrive at her place, and we curl up on the couch with our food and Bridget Jones’ Diary, which we’ve seen at least a hundred times. “There’s comfort in familiarity,” Marla says as she hits play.
Can’t argue with that. Being here in the Higgins’ house, even without Bridget, makes me feel more relaxed than I have in a long time. I push all thoughts of Celia and work and everything else out of my mind. Well, not quite everything else; I can’t help the occasional thought of Hugh, which leads to a bit of zoning out now and then as I fantasize about us together, but honestly who could blame me?
It must be during one of those zoning out moments I fall asleep, because the next thing I know I’m waking up sprawled on the couch. The blanket that was draped over Marla’s and my laps is now tucked around me. The room is dark except for the lamp over the rocking chair in the corner where
Marla is sitting with a book.
“I blame the pain killers,” I murmur, rubbing my eyes.
Marla sets her book aside. “It’s not the first time you’ve fallen asleep on that couch and I’m sure it won’t be the last.” She’s right; Bridget and I have often fallen asleep during movies or on lazy days when we were hanging out. There’s just something about this couch.
Marla comes to sit beside me, putting her arm around me. I snuggle into her, breathing in her light floral scent, which I know from years of experience isn’t perfume but a dab of essential oil. My own mother always smelled like clean laundry. To this day, I can’t catch a whiff of the brand of detergent or fabric softener we used when I was little without getting emotional.
“What’s on your mind, Ivy Girl?” Marla asks.
I sigh. “Everything is changing. And yet nothing has changed. Does that make sense?”
Her cheek brushes the top of my head as she nods. “Mmhmm. Want to tell me about it?”
“I miss Bridget,” I say in a small, pathetic voice. I sound like a little kid who’s lost her favorite toy. “I feel childish and silly saying that, but it’s true. I miss her. I didn’t expect either of us to stay single forever. I knew one or both of us would experience big changes in our lives eventually, but…”
“You thought you’d be first?” Marla asks.
I’d never given it much consideration, but I suppose if I had actually thought ahead and pictured our futures, I’d have been the one to find love first. “Bridget has always said I’m the romantic out of the two of us. She’s also said my high expectations would likely be the reason I’d stay single.”